HERMOTIMUS

Hermotimus, the hero of this ballad, was a philosopher, or rather a prophet, of Clazomenæ, who possessed the faculty, now claimed by the animal-magnetists, of effecting a voluntary separation between his soul and body; for the former could wander to any part of the universe, and even hold intercourse with supernatural beings, whilst the senseless frame remained at home. Hermotimus, however, was not insensible to the risk attendant upon this disunion; since, before attempting any of these aerial flights, he took the precaution to warn his wife, lest, ere the return of his soul, the body should be rendered an unfit or useless receptacle. This accident, which he so much dreaded, at length occurred; for the lady, wearied out by a succession of trances, each of longer duration than the preceding, one day committed his body to the flames, and thus effectually put a stop to such unconnubial conduct. He received divine honours at Clazomenæ, but must nevertheless remain as a terrible example and warning to all husbands who carry their scientific or spiritual pursuits so far as to neglect their duty to their wives.

It is somewhat curious that Hermotimus is not the only person (putting the disciples of Mesmer and Dupotet altogether out of the question) who has possessed this miraculous power. Another and much later instance is recorded by Dr. George Cheyne, in his work entitled,The English Malady, or a Treatise of Nervous Diseases, as having come under his own observation; and, as this case is exactly similar to that of the Prophet, it may amuse the reader to see how far an ancient fable may be illustrated, and in part explained, by the records of modern science. Dr. Cheyne's patient was probably cataleptic; but the worthy physician must be allowed to tell his own story.

"Colonel Townshend, a gentleman of honour and integrity, had for many years been afflicted with a nephritic complaint. His illness increasing, and his strength decaying, he came from Bristol to Bath in a litter, in autumn, and lay at the Bell Inn. Dr. Baynard and I were called to him, and attended him twice a-day; but his vomitings continuing still incessant and obstinate against all remedies, we despaired of his recovery. While he was in this condition, he sent for us one morning; we waited on him with Mr. Skrine, his apothecary. We found his senses clear, and his mind calm: his nurse and several servants were about him. He told us he had sent for us to give him an account of an odd sensation he had for some time observed and felt in himself; which was, that, by composing himself,he could die or expire when he pleased; and yet by an effort, or somehow, he could come to life again, which he had sometimes tried before he had sent for us. We heard this with surprise; but, as it was not to be accounted for upon common principles, we could hardly believe the fact as he related it, much less give any account of it; unless he should please to make the experiment before us, which we were unwilling he should do, lest, in his weak condition, he might carry it too far. He continued to talk very distinctly and sensibly above a quarter of an hour about this surprising sensation, and insisted so much on our seeing the trial made, that we were at last forced to comply. We all three felt his pulse first—it was distinct, though small and thready, and his heart had its usual beating. He composed himself on his back, and lay in a still posture for some time: while I held his right hand, Dr. Baynard laid his hand on his heart, and Mr. Skrine held a clean looking-glass to his mouth. I found his pulse sink gradually, till at last I could not find any by the most exact and nice touch. Dr. Baynard could not feel the least motion in his heart, nor Mr. Skrine the least soil of breath on the bright mirror he held to his mouth; then each of us by turns examined his arm, heart, and breath, but could not, by the nicest scrutiny, discover the least symptom of life in him. We reasoned a long time about this odd appearance as well as we could, and all of us judging it inexplicable and unaccountable; and, finding he still continued in that condition, we began to conclude that he had indeed carried the experiment too far; and at last were satisfied he was actually dead, and were just ready to leave him. This continued about half an hour. As we were going away, we observed some motion about the body; and, upon examination, found his pulse and the motion of his heart gradually returning. He began to breathe gently and speak softly. We were all astonished to the last degree at this unexpected change; and, after some further conversation with him, and among ourselves, went away fully satisfied as to all the particulars of this fact, but confounded and puzzled, and not able to form any rational scheme that might account for it."

I."Wilt not lay thee down in quiet slumber?Weary dost thou seem, and ill at rest;Sleep will bring thee dreams in starry number—Let him come to thee and be thy guest.Midnight now is past—Husband! come at last—Lay thy throbbing head upon my breast."II."Weary am I, but my soul is waking;Fain I'd lay me gently by thy side,But my spirit then, its home forsaking,Through the realms of space would wander wide—Everything forgot,What would be thy lot,If I came not back to thee, my bride?"III."Music, like the lute of young Apollo,Vibrates even now within mine ear;Soft and silver voices bid me follow,Yet my soul is dull and will not hear.Waking it will stay:Let me watch till day—Fainter will they come, and disappear."IV."Speak not thus to me, my own—my dearest!These are but the phantoms of thy brain;Nothing can befall thee which thou fearest,Thou shalt wake to love and life again.Were this sleep thy last,I should hold thee fast,Thou shouldst strive against me but in vain."V."Eros will protect us, and will hover,Guardian-like, above thee all the night,Jealous of thee, as of some fond loverChiding back the rosy-fingered light—He will be thine aid:Canst thou feel afraidWhenhistorch above us burneth bright?"VI."Lo! the cressets of the night are waning—Old Orion hastens from the sky;Only thou of all things art remainingUnrefreshed by slumber—thou and I.Sound and sense are still;Even the distant rillMurmurs fainter now, and languidly."VII."Come and rest thee, husband!"—And no longerCould the young man that fond call resist:Vainly was he warned, for love was stronger—Warmly did he press her to his breast.Warmly met she his;Kiss succeeded kiss,Till their eyelids closed with sleep oppressed.VIII.Soon Aurora left her early pillow,And the heavens grew rosy-rich, and rare;Laughed the dewy plain and glassy billow,For the Golden God himself was there;And the vapour-screenRose the hills between,Steaming up, like incense, in the air.IX.O'er her husband sate Ione bending—Marble-like and marble-hued he lay;Underneath her raven locks descending,Paler seemed his face, and ashen gray,And so white his brow—White and cold as snow—"Husband! Gods! his soul hath passed away!"X.Raise ye up the pile with gloomy shadow—Heap it with the mournful cypress-bough!—And they raised the pile upon the meadow,And they heaped the mournful cypress too;And they laid the deadOn his funeral bed,And they kindled up the flames below.XI.Swiftly rose they, and the corse surrounded,Spreading out a pall into the air;And the sharp and sudden crackling soundedMournfully to all the watchers there.Soon their force was spent,And the body blentWith the embers' slow-expiring glare.XII.Night again was come; but oh, how lonelyTo the mourner did that night appear!Peace nor rest it brought, but sorrow only,Vain repinings and unwonted fear.Dimly burned the lamp—Chill the air and damp—And the winds without were moaning drear.XIII.Hush! a voice in solemn whispers speakingBreaks within the twilight of the room;And Ione, loud and wildly shrieking,Starts and gazes through the ghastly gloom.Nothing sees she there—All is empty air,All is empty as a rifled tomb.XIV.Once again the voice beside her sounded,Low, and faint, and solemn was its tone—"Nor by form nor shade am I surrounded,Fleshly home and dwelling have I none.They are passed away—Woe is me! to-dayHath robbed me of myself, and made me lone."XV."Vainly were the words of parting spoken;Evermore must Charon turn from me.Still my thread of life remains unbroken,And unbroken ever it must be;Only they may restWhom the Fates' behestFrom their mortal mansion setteth free."XVI."I have seen the robes of Hermes glisten—Seen him wave afar his serpent-wand;But to me the Herald would not listen—When the dead swept by at his command,Not with that pale crewDurst I venture too—Ever shut for me the quiet land."XVII."Day and night before the dreary portal,Phantom-shapes, the guards of Hades, lie;None of heavenly kind, nor yet of mortal,May unchallenged pass the warders by.None that path may go,If he cannot showHis last passport to eternity."XVIII."Cruel was the spirit-power thou gavest—Fatal, O Apollo, was thy love!Pythian! Archer! brightest God and bravest,Hear, O hear me from thy throne above!Let me not, I pray,Thus be cast away:Plead for me—thy slave—O plead to Jove!"XIX."I have heard thee with the Muses singing—Heard that full, melodious voice of thine,Silver-clear throughout the ether ringing—Seen thy locks in golden clusters shine;And thine eye, so brightWith its innate light,Hath ere now been bent so low as mine."XX."Hast thou lost the wish—the will—to cherishThose who trusted in thy godlike power?Hyacinthus did not wholly perish;Still he lives, the firstling of thy bower;Still he feels thy rays,Fondly meets thy gaze,Though but now the spirit of a flower."XXI."Hear me, Phoebus! Hear me and deliver!Lo! the morning breaketh from afar—God! thou comest bright and great as ever—Night goes back before thy burning car;All her lamps are gone—Lucifer aloneLingers still for thee—the blessed star!"XXII."Hear me, Phoebus!"—And therewith descendedThrough the window-arch a glory-gleam,All effulgent—and with music blended,For such solemn sounds arose as streamFrom the Memnon-lyre,When the morning fireGilds the giant's forehead with its beam.XXIII."Thou hast heard thy servant's prayer, Apollo;Thou dost call me, mighty God of Day!Fare-thee-well, Ione!"—And more hollowCame the phantom-voice, then died away.When the slaves arose,Not in calm repose,Not in sleep, but death, their mistress lay.

"Wilt not lay thee down in quiet slumber?Weary dost thou seem, and ill at rest;Sleep will bring thee dreams in starry number—Let him come to thee and be thy guest.Midnight now is past—Husband! come at last—Lay thy throbbing head upon my breast."

"Wilt not lay thee down in quiet slumber?

Weary dost thou seem, and ill at rest;

Sleep will bring thee dreams in starry number—

Let him come to thee and be thy guest.

Midnight now is past—

Husband! come at last—

Lay thy throbbing head upon my breast."

II.

"Weary am I, but my soul is waking;Fain I'd lay me gently by thy side,But my spirit then, its home forsaking,Through the realms of space would wander wide—Everything forgot,What would be thy lot,If I came not back to thee, my bride?"

"Weary am I, but my soul is waking;

Fain I'd lay me gently by thy side,

But my spirit then, its home forsaking,

Through the realms of space would wander wide—

Everything forgot,

What would be thy lot,

If I came not back to thee, my bride?"

III.

"Music, like the lute of young Apollo,Vibrates even now within mine ear;Soft and silver voices bid me follow,Yet my soul is dull and will not hear.Waking it will stay:Let me watch till day—Fainter will they come, and disappear."

"Music, like the lute of young Apollo,

Vibrates even now within mine ear;

Soft and silver voices bid me follow,

Yet my soul is dull and will not hear.

Waking it will stay:

Let me watch till day—

Fainter will they come, and disappear."

IV.

"Speak not thus to me, my own—my dearest!These are but the phantoms of thy brain;Nothing can befall thee which thou fearest,Thou shalt wake to love and life again.Were this sleep thy last,I should hold thee fast,Thou shouldst strive against me but in vain."

"Speak not thus to me, my own—my dearest!

These are but the phantoms of thy brain;

Nothing can befall thee which thou fearest,

Thou shalt wake to love and life again.

Were this sleep thy last,

I should hold thee fast,

Thou shouldst strive against me but in vain."

"Eros will protect us, and will hover,Guardian-like, above thee all the night,Jealous of thee, as of some fond loverChiding back the rosy-fingered light—He will be thine aid:Canst thou feel afraidWhenhistorch above us burneth bright?"

"Eros will protect us, and will hover,

Guardian-like, above thee all the night,

Jealous of thee, as of some fond lover

Chiding back the rosy-fingered light—

He will be thine aid:

Canst thou feel afraid

Whenhistorch above us burneth bright?"

VI.

"Lo! the cressets of the night are waning—Old Orion hastens from the sky;Only thou of all things art remainingUnrefreshed by slumber—thou and I.Sound and sense are still;Even the distant rillMurmurs fainter now, and languidly."

"Lo! the cressets of the night are waning—

Old Orion hastens from the sky;

Only thou of all things art remaining

Unrefreshed by slumber—thou and I.

Sound and sense are still;

Even the distant rill

Murmurs fainter now, and languidly."

VII.

"Come and rest thee, husband!"—And no longerCould the young man that fond call resist:Vainly was he warned, for love was stronger—Warmly did he press her to his breast.Warmly met she his;Kiss succeeded kiss,Till their eyelids closed with sleep oppressed.

"Come and rest thee, husband!"—And no longer

Could the young man that fond call resist:

Vainly was he warned, for love was stronger—

Warmly did he press her to his breast.

Warmly met she his;

Kiss succeeded kiss,

Till their eyelids closed with sleep oppressed.

VIII.

Soon Aurora left her early pillow,And the heavens grew rosy-rich, and rare;Laughed the dewy plain and glassy billow,For the Golden God himself was there;And the vapour-screenRose the hills between,Steaming up, like incense, in the air.

Soon Aurora left her early pillow,

And the heavens grew rosy-rich, and rare;

Laughed the dewy plain and glassy billow,

For the Golden God himself was there;

And the vapour-screen

Rose the hills between,

Steaming up, like incense, in the air.

IX.

O'er her husband sate Ione bending—Marble-like and marble-hued he lay;Underneath her raven locks descending,Paler seemed his face, and ashen gray,And so white his brow—White and cold as snow—"Husband! Gods! his soul hath passed away!"

O'er her husband sate Ione bending—

Marble-like and marble-hued he lay;

Underneath her raven locks descending,

Paler seemed his face, and ashen gray,

And so white his brow—

White and cold as snow—

"Husband! Gods! his soul hath passed away!"

Raise ye up the pile with gloomy shadow—Heap it with the mournful cypress-bough!—And they raised the pile upon the meadow,And they heaped the mournful cypress too;And they laid the deadOn his funeral bed,And they kindled up the flames below.

Raise ye up the pile with gloomy shadow—

Heap it with the mournful cypress-bough!—

And they raised the pile upon the meadow,

And they heaped the mournful cypress too;

And they laid the dead

On his funeral bed,

And they kindled up the flames below.

XI.

Swiftly rose they, and the corse surrounded,Spreading out a pall into the air;And the sharp and sudden crackling soundedMournfully to all the watchers there.Soon their force was spent,And the body blentWith the embers' slow-expiring glare.

Swiftly rose they, and the corse surrounded,

Spreading out a pall into the air;

And the sharp and sudden crackling sounded

Mournfully to all the watchers there.

Soon their force was spent,

And the body blent

With the embers' slow-expiring glare.

XII.

Night again was come; but oh, how lonelyTo the mourner did that night appear!Peace nor rest it brought, but sorrow only,Vain repinings and unwonted fear.Dimly burned the lamp—Chill the air and damp—And the winds without were moaning drear.

Night again was come; but oh, how lonely

To the mourner did that night appear!

Peace nor rest it brought, but sorrow only,

Vain repinings and unwonted fear.

Dimly burned the lamp—

Chill the air and damp—

And the winds without were moaning drear.

XIII.

Hush! a voice in solemn whispers speakingBreaks within the twilight of the room;And Ione, loud and wildly shrieking,Starts and gazes through the ghastly gloom.Nothing sees she there—All is empty air,All is empty as a rifled tomb.

Hush! a voice in solemn whispers speaking

Breaks within the twilight of the room;

And Ione, loud and wildly shrieking,

Starts and gazes through the ghastly gloom.

Nothing sees she there—

All is empty air,

All is empty as a rifled tomb.

XIV.

Once again the voice beside her sounded,Low, and faint, and solemn was its tone—"Nor by form nor shade am I surrounded,Fleshly home and dwelling have I none.They are passed away—Woe is me! to-dayHath robbed me of myself, and made me lone."

Once again the voice beside her sounded,

Low, and faint, and solemn was its tone—

"Nor by form nor shade am I surrounded,

Fleshly home and dwelling have I none.

They are passed away—

Woe is me! to-day

Hath robbed me of myself, and made me lone."

XV.

"Vainly were the words of parting spoken;Evermore must Charon turn from me.Still my thread of life remains unbroken,And unbroken ever it must be;Only they may restWhom the Fates' behestFrom their mortal mansion setteth free."

"Vainly were the words of parting spoken;

Evermore must Charon turn from me.

Still my thread of life remains unbroken,

And unbroken ever it must be;

Only they may rest

Whom the Fates' behest

From their mortal mansion setteth free."

XVI.

"I have seen the robes of Hermes glisten—Seen him wave afar his serpent-wand;But to me the Herald would not listen—When the dead swept by at his command,Not with that pale crewDurst I venture too—Ever shut for me the quiet land."

"I have seen the robes of Hermes glisten—

Seen him wave afar his serpent-wand;

But to me the Herald would not listen—

When the dead swept by at his command,

Not with that pale crew

Durst I venture too—

Ever shut for me the quiet land."

XVII.

"Day and night before the dreary portal,Phantom-shapes, the guards of Hades, lie;None of heavenly kind, nor yet of mortal,May unchallenged pass the warders by.None that path may go,If he cannot showHis last passport to eternity."

"Day and night before the dreary portal,

Phantom-shapes, the guards of Hades, lie;

None of heavenly kind, nor yet of mortal,

May unchallenged pass the warders by.

None that path may go,

If he cannot show

His last passport to eternity."

XVIII.

"Cruel was the spirit-power thou gavest—Fatal, O Apollo, was thy love!Pythian! Archer! brightest God and bravest,Hear, O hear me from thy throne above!Let me not, I pray,Thus be cast away:Plead for me—thy slave—O plead to Jove!"

"Cruel was the spirit-power thou gavest—

Fatal, O Apollo, was thy love!

Pythian! Archer! brightest God and bravest,

Hear, O hear me from thy throne above!

Let me not, I pray,

Thus be cast away:

Plead for me—thy slave—O plead to Jove!"

XIX.

"I have heard thee with the Muses singing—Heard that full, melodious voice of thine,Silver-clear throughout the ether ringing—Seen thy locks in golden clusters shine;And thine eye, so brightWith its innate light,Hath ere now been bent so low as mine."

"I have heard thee with the Muses singing—

Heard that full, melodious voice of thine,

Silver-clear throughout the ether ringing—

Seen thy locks in golden clusters shine;

And thine eye, so bright

With its innate light,

Hath ere now been bent so low as mine."

XX.

"Hast thou lost the wish—the will—to cherishThose who trusted in thy godlike power?Hyacinthus did not wholly perish;Still he lives, the firstling of thy bower;Still he feels thy rays,Fondly meets thy gaze,Though but now the spirit of a flower."

"Hast thou lost the wish—the will—to cherish

Those who trusted in thy godlike power?

Hyacinthus did not wholly perish;

Still he lives, the firstling of thy bower;

Still he feels thy rays,

Fondly meets thy gaze,

Though but now the spirit of a flower."

XXI.

"Hear me, Phoebus! Hear me and deliver!Lo! the morning breaketh from afar—God! thou comest bright and great as ever—Night goes back before thy burning car;All her lamps are gone—Lucifer aloneLingers still for thee—the blessed star!"

"Hear me, Phoebus! Hear me and deliver!

Lo! the morning breaketh from afar—

God! thou comest bright and great as ever—

Night goes back before thy burning car;

All her lamps are gone—

Lucifer alone

Lingers still for thee—the blessed star!"

XXII.

"Hear me, Phoebus!"—And therewith descendedThrough the window-arch a glory-gleam,All effulgent—and with music blended,For such solemn sounds arose as streamFrom the Memnon-lyre,When the morning fireGilds the giant's forehead with its beam.

"Hear me, Phoebus!"—And therewith descended

Through the window-arch a glory-gleam,

All effulgent—and with music blended,

For such solemn sounds arose as stream

From the Memnon-lyre,

When the morning fire

Gilds the giant's forehead with its beam.

XXIII.

"Thou hast heard thy servant's prayer, Apollo;Thou dost call me, mighty God of Day!Fare-thee-well, Ione!"—And more hollowCame the phantom-voice, then died away.When the slaves arose,Not in calm repose,Not in sleep, but death, their mistress lay.

"Thou hast heard thy servant's prayer, Apollo;

Thou dost call me, mighty God of Day!

Fare-thee-well, Ione!"—And more hollow

Came the phantom-voice, then died away.

When the slaves arose,

Not in calm repose,

Not in sleep, but death, their mistress lay.

On the holy mount of Ida,Where the pine and cypress grow,Sate a young and lovely woman,Weeping ever, weeping low.Drearily throughout the forestDid the winds of autumn blow,And the clouds above were flying,And Scamander rolled below."Faithless Paris! cruel Paris!"Thus the poor deserted spake—"Wherefore thus so strangely leave me?Why thy loving bride forsake?Why no tender word at parting?Why no kiss, no farewell take?Would that I could but forget thee—Would this throbbing heart might break!"Is my face no longer blooming?Are my eyes no longer bright?Ah! my tears have made them dimmer,And my cheeks are pale and white.I have wept since early morning,I will weep the livelong night;Now I long for sullen darkness,As I once have longed for light."Paris! canst thou then be cruel?Fair, and young, and brave thou art—Can it be that in thy bosomLies so cold, so hard a heart?Children were we bred together—She who bore me suckled thee;I have been thine old companion,When thou hadst no more but me."I have watched thee in thy slumbers,When the shadow of a dreamPassed across thy smiling features,Like the ripple of a stream;And so sweetly were the visionsPictured there with lively grace,That I half could read their importBy the changes on thy face."When I sang of Ariadne,Sang the old and mournful tale,How her faithless lover, Theseus,Left her to lament and wail;Then thine eyes would fill and glisten,Her complaint could soften thee:Thou hast wept for Ariadne—Theseus' self might weep for me!"Thou may'st find another maidenWith a fairer face than mine—With a gayer voice, and sweeter,And a spirit liker thine:For if e'er my beauty bound thee,Lost and broken is the spell;But thou canst not find anotherThat will love thee half so well."O thou hollow ship that bearestParis o'er the faithless deep,Wouldst thou leave him on some island,Where alone the waters weep?Where no human foot is mouldedIn the wet and yellow sand—Leave him there, thou hollow vessel!Leave him on that lonely land!"Then his heart will surely soften,When his foolish hopes decay,And his older love rekindle,As the new one dies away.Visionary hills will haunt him,Rising from the glassy sea,And his thoughts will wander homewardsUnto Ida and to me."O! that like a little swallowI could reach that lonely spot!All his errors would be pardoned,All the weary past forgot.Never should he wander from me—Never should he more depart,For these arms would be his prison,And his home would be my heart."Thus lamented fair Oenone,Weeping ever, weeping low,On the holy mount of Ida,Where the pine and cypress grow.In the self-same hour CassandraShrieked her prophecy of woe,And into the Spartan dwellingDid the faithless Paris go.

On the holy mount of Ida,

Where the pine and cypress grow,

Sate a young and lovely woman,

Weeping ever, weeping low.

Drearily throughout the forest

Did the winds of autumn blow,

And the clouds above were flying,

And Scamander rolled below.

"Faithless Paris! cruel Paris!"Thus the poor deserted spake—"Wherefore thus so strangely leave me?Why thy loving bride forsake?Why no tender word at parting?Why no kiss, no farewell take?Would that I could but forget thee—Would this throbbing heart might break!

"Faithless Paris! cruel Paris!"

Thus the poor deserted spake—

"Wherefore thus so strangely leave me?

Why thy loving bride forsake?

Why no tender word at parting?

Why no kiss, no farewell take?

Would that I could but forget thee—

Would this throbbing heart might break!

"Is my face no longer blooming?Are my eyes no longer bright?Ah! my tears have made them dimmer,And my cheeks are pale and white.I have wept since early morning,I will weep the livelong night;Now I long for sullen darkness,As I once have longed for light.

"Is my face no longer blooming?

Are my eyes no longer bright?

Ah! my tears have made them dimmer,

And my cheeks are pale and white.

I have wept since early morning,

I will weep the livelong night;

Now I long for sullen darkness,

As I once have longed for light.

"Paris! canst thou then be cruel?Fair, and young, and brave thou art—Can it be that in thy bosomLies so cold, so hard a heart?Children were we bred together—She who bore me suckled thee;I have been thine old companion,When thou hadst no more but me.

"Paris! canst thou then be cruel?

Fair, and young, and brave thou art—

Can it be that in thy bosom

Lies so cold, so hard a heart?

Children were we bred together—

She who bore me suckled thee;

I have been thine old companion,

When thou hadst no more but me.

"I have watched thee in thy slumbers,When the shadow of a dreamPassed across thy smiling features,Like the ripple of a stream;And so sweetly were the visionsPictured there with lively grace,That I half could read their importBy the changes on thy face.

"I have watched thee in thy slumbers,

When the shadow of a dream

Passed across thy smiling features,

Like the ripple of a stream;

And so sweetly were the visions

Pictured there with lively grace,

That I half could read their import

By the changes on thy face.

"When I sang of Ariadne,Sang the old and mournful tale,How her faithless lover, Theseus,Left her to lament and wail;Then thine eyes would fill and glisten,Her complaint could soften thee:Thou hast wept for Ariadne—Theseus' self might weep for me!

"When I sang of Ariadne,

Sang the old and mournful tale,

How her faithless lover, Theseus,

Left her to lament and wail;

Then thine eyes would fill and glisten,

Her complaint could soften thee:

Thou hast wept for Ariadne—

Theseus' self might weep for me!

"Thou may'st find another maidenWith a fairer face than mine—With a gayer voice, and sweeter,And a spirit liker thine:For if e'er my beauty bound thee,Lost and broken is the spell;But thou canst not find anotherThat will love thee half so well.

"Thou may'st find another maiden

With a fairer face than mine—

With a gayer voice, and sweeter,

And a spirit liker thine:

For if e'er my beauty bound thee,

Lost and broken is the spell;

But thou canst not find another

That will love thee half so well.

"O thou hollow ship that bearestParis o'er the faithless deep,Wouldst thou leave him on some island,Where alone the waters weep?Where no human foot is mouldedIn the wet and yellow sand—Leave him there, thou hollow vessel!Leave him on that lonely land!

"O thou hollow ship that bearest

Paris o'er the faithless deep,

Wouldst thou leave him on some island,

Where alone the waters weep?

Where no human foot is moulded

In the wet and yellow sand—

Leave him there, thou hollow vessel!

Leave him on that lonely land!

"Then his heart will surely soften,When his foolish hopes decay,And his older love rekindle,As the new one dies away.Visionary hills will haunt him,Rising from the glassy sea,And his thoughts will wander homewardsUnto Ida and to me.

"Then his heart will surely soften,

When his foolish hopes decay,

And his older love rekindle,

As the new one dies away.

Visionary hills will haunt him,

Rising from the glassy sea,

And his thoughts will wander homewards

Unto Ida and to me.

"O! that like a little swallowI could reach that lonely spot!All his errors would be pardoned,All the weary past forgot.Never should he wander from me—Never should he more depart,For these arms would be his prison,And his home would be my heart."

"O! that like a little swallow

I could reach that lonely spot!

All his errors would be pardoned,

All the weary past forgot.

Never should he wander from me—

Never should he more depart,

For these arms would be his prison,

And his home would be my heart."

Thus lamented fair Oenone,Weeping ever, weeping low,On the holy mount of Ida,Where the pine and cypress grow.In the self-same hour CassandraShrieked her prophecy of woe,And into the Spartan dwellingDid the faithless Paris go.

Thus lamented fair Oenone,

Weeping ever, weeping low,

On the holy mount of Ida,

Where the pine and cypress grow.

In the self-same hour Cassandra

Shrieked her prophecy of woe,

And into the Spartan dwelling

Did the faithless Paris go.

In the silence of my chamber,When the night is still and deep,And the drowsy heave of oceanMutters in its charmed sleep,Oft I hear the angel-voicesThat have thrilled me long ago,—Voices of my lost companions,Lying deep beneath the snow.O, the garden I remember,In the gay and sunny spring,When our laughter made the thicketsAnd the arching alleys ring!O the merry burst of gladness!O the soft and tender tone!O the whisper never utteredSave to one fond ear alone!O the light of life that sparkledIn those bright and bounteous eyes!O the blush of happy beauty,Tell-tale of the heart's surprise:O the radiant light that girdledField and forest, land and sea,When we all were young together,And the earth was new to me:Where are now the flowers we tended?Withered, broken, branch and stem;Where are now the hopes we cherished?Scattered to the winds with them.For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!Nursed in hope and reared in love,Looking fondly ever upwardTo the clear blue heaven above:Smiling on the sun that cheered us,Rising lightly from the rain,Never folding up your freshnessSave to give it forth again:Never shaken, save by accentsFrom a tongue that was not free,As the modest blossom tremblesAt the wooing of the bee.O! 'tis sad to lie and reckonAll the days of faded youth,All the vows that we believed in,All the words we spoke in truth.Severed—were it severed onlyBy an idle thought of strife,Such as time might knit together;Not the broken chord of life!O my heart! that once so trulyKept another's time and tune,Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide,Look around thee in the noon.Where are they who gave the impulseTo thy earliest thought and flow?Look around the ruined garden—All are withered, dropped, or low!Seek the birth-place of the lily,Dearer to the boyish dreamThan the golden cups of Eden,Floating on its slumbrous stream;Never more shalt thou behold her—She, the noblest, fairest, best:She that rose in fullest beauty,Like a queen, above the rest.Only still I keep her imageAs a thought that cannot die;He who raised the shade of HelenHad no greater power than I.O! I fling my spirit backward,And I pass o'er years of pain;All I loved is rising round me,All the lost returns again.Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes,Warmly as ye did before!Bloom again, ye happy gardens,With the radiant tints of yore!Warble out in spray and thicket,All ye choristers unseen;Let the leafy woodland echoWith an anthem to its queen!Lo! she cometh in her beauty,Stately with a Juno grace,Raven locks, Madonna-braidedO'er her sweet and blushing face:Eyes of deepest violet, beamingWith the love that knows not shame—Lips, that thrill my inmost beingWith the utterance of a name.And I bend the knee before her,As a captive ought to bow,—Pray thee, listen to my pleading,Sovereign of my soul art thou!O my dear and gentle lady,Let me show thee all my pain,Ere the words that late were prisonedSink into my heart again.Love, they say, is very fearfulEre its curtain be withdrawn,Trembling at the thought of errorAs the shadows scare the fawn.Love hath bound me to thee, lady,Since the well-remembered dayWhen I first beheld thee comingIn the light of lustrous May.Not a word I dared to utter—More than he who, long ago,Saw the heavenly shapes descendingOver Ida's slopes of snow:When a low and solemn musicFloated through the listening grove,And the throstle's song was silenced,And the doling of the dove:When immortal beauty openedAll its grace to mortal sight,And the awe of worship blendedWith the throbbing of delight.As the shepherd stood before themTrembling in the Phrygian dell,Even so my soul and beingOwned the magic of the spell;And I watched thee ever fondly,Watched thee, dearest! from afar,With the mute and humble homageOf the Indian to a star.Thou wert still the Lady FloraIn her morning garb of bloom;Where thou wert was light and glory,Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom.So for many a day I followedFor a long and weary while,Ere my heart rose up to bless theeFor the yielding of a smile,—Ere thy words were few and brokenAs they answered back to mine,Ere my lips had power to thank theeFor the gift vouchsafed by thine.Then a mighty gush of passionThrough my inmost being ran;Then my older life was ended,And a dearer course began.Dearer!—O, I cannot tell theeWhat a load was swept away,What a world of doubt and darknessFaded in the dawning day!All my error, all my weakness,All my vain delusions fled:Hope again revived, and gladnessWaved its wings above my head.Like the wanderer of the desert,When, across the dreary sand,Breathes the perfume from the thicketsBordering on the promised land;When afar he sees the palm-treesCresting o'er the lonely well,When he hears the pleasant tinkleOf the distant camel's bell:So a fresh and glad emotionRose within my swelling breast,And I hurried swiftly onwardsTo the haven of my rest.Thou wert there with word and welcome,With thy smile so purely sweet;And I laid my heart before thee,Laid it, darling, at thy feet!—O ye words that sound so hollowAs I now recall your tone!What are ye but empty echoesOf a passion crushed and gone?Wherefore should I seek to kindleLight, when all around is gloom?Wherefore should I raise a phantomO'er the dark and silent tomb?Early wert thou taken, Mary!In thy fair and glorious prime,Ere the bees had ceased to murmurThrough the umbrage of the lime.Buds were blowing, waters flowing,Birds were singing on the tree,Every thing was bright and glowing,When the angels came for thee.Death had laid aside his terror,And he found thee calm and mild,Lying in thy robes of whiteness,Like a pure and stainless child.Hardly had the mountain violetSpread its blossoms on the sod,Ere they laid the turf above thee,And thy spirit rose to God.Early wert thou taken, Mary!And I know 'tis vain to weep—Tears of mine can never wake theeFrom thy sad and silent sleep.O away! my thoughts are earthward!Not asleep, my love, art thou!Dwelling in the land of gloryWith the saints and angels now.Brighter, fairer far than living,With no trace of woe or pain,Robed in everlasting beauty,Shall I see thee once again,By the light that never fadeth,Underneath eternal skies,When the dawn of resurrectionBreaks o'er deathless Paradise.

In the silence of my chamber,When the night is still and deep,And the drowsy heave of oceanMutters in its charmed sleep,

In the silence of my chamber,

When the night is still and deep,

And the drowsy heave of ocean

Mutters in its charmed sleep,

Oft I hear the angel-voicesThat have thrilled me long ago,—Voices of my lost companions,Lying deep beneath the snow.

Oft I hear the angel-voices

That have thrilled me long ago,—

Voices of my lost companions,

Lying deep beneath the snow.

O, the garden I remember,In the gay and sunny spring,When our laughter made the thicketsAnd the arching alleys ring!

O, the garden I remember,

In the gay and sunny spring,

When our laughter made the thickets

And the arching alleys ring!

O the merry burst of gladness!O the soft and tender tone!O the whisper never utteredSave to one fond ear alone!

O the merry burst of gladness!

O the soft and tender tone!

O the whisper never uttered

Save to one fond ear alone!

O the light of life that sparkledIn those bright and bounteous eyes!O the blush of happy beauty,Tell-tale of the heart's surprise:

O the light of life that sparkled

In those bright and bounteous eyes!

O the blush of happy beauty,

Tell-tale of the heart's surprise:

O the radiant light that girdledField and forest, land and sea,When we all were young together,And the earth was new to me:

O the radiant light that girdled

Field and forest, land and sea,

When we all were young together,

And the earth was new to me:

Where are now the flowers we tended?Withered, broken, branch and stem;Where are now the hopes we cherished?Scattered to the winds with them.

Where are now the flowers we tended?

Withered, broken, branch and stem;

Where are now the hopes we cherished?

Scattered to the winds with them.

For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!Nursed in hope and reared in love,Looking fondly ever upwardTo the clear blue heaven above:

For ye, too, were flowers, ye dear ones!

Nursed in hope and reared in love,

Looking fondly ever upward

To the clear blue heaven above:

Smiling on the sun that cheered us,Rising lightly from the rain,Never folding up your freshnessSave to give it forth again:

Smiling on the sun that cheered us,

Rising lightly from the rain,

Never folding up your freshness

Save to give it forth again:

Never shaken, save by accentsFrom a tongue that was not free,As the modest blossom tremblesAt the wooing of the bee.

Never shaken, save by accents

From a tongue that was not free,

As the modest blossom trembles

At the wooing of the bee.

O! 'tis sad to lie and reckonAll the days of faded youth,All the vows that we believed in,All the words we spoke in truth.

O! 'tis sad to lie and reckon

All the days of faded youth,

All the vows that we believed in,

All the words we spoke in truth.

Severed—were it severed onlyBy an idle thought of strife,Such as time might knit together;Not the broken chord of life!

Severed—were it severed only

By an idle thought of strife,

Such as time might knit together;

Not the broken chord of life!

O my heart! that once so trulyKept another's time and tune,Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide,Look around thee in the noon.

O my heart! that once so truly

Kept another's time and tune,

Heart, that kindled in the spring-tide,

Look around thee in the noon.

Where are they who gave the impulseTo thy earliest thought and flow?Look around the ruined garden—All are withered, dropped, or low!

Where are they who gave the impulse

To thy earliest thought and flow?

Look around the ruined garden—

All are withered, dropped, or low!

Seek the birth-place of the lily,Dearer to the boyish dreamThan the golden cups of Eden,Floating on its slumbrous stream;

Seek the birth-place of the lily,

Dearer to the boyish dream

Than the golden cups of Eden,

Floating on its slumbrous stream;

Never more shalt thou behold her—She, the noblest, fairest, best:She that rose in fullest beauty,Like a queen, above the rest.

Never more shalt thou behold her—

She, the noblest, fairest, best:

She that rose in fullest beauty,

Like a queen, above the rest.

Only still I keep her imageAs a thought that cannot die;He who raised the shade of HelenHad no greater power than I.

Only still I keep her image

As a thought that cannot die;

He who raised the shade of Helen

Had no greater power than I.

O! I fling my spirit backward,And I pass o'er years of pain;All I loved is rising round me,All the lost returns again.

O! I fling my spirit backward,

And I pass o'er years of pain;

All I loved is rising round me,

All the lost returns again.

Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes,Warmly as ye did before!Bloom again, ye happy gardens,With the radiant tints of yore!

Blow, for ever blow, ye breezes,

Warmly as ye did before!

Bloom again, ye happy gardens,

With the radiant tints of yore!

Warble out in spray and thicket,All ye choristers unseen;Let the leafy woodland echoWith an anthem to its queen!

Warble out in spray and thicket,

All ye choristers unseen;

Let the leafy woodland echo

With an anthem to its queen!

Lo! she cometh in her beauty,Stately with a Juno grace,Raven locks, Madonna-braidedO'er her sweet and blushing face:

Lo! she cometh in her beauty,

Stately with a Juno grace,

Raven locks, Madonna-braided

O'er her sweet and blushing face:

Eyes of deepest violet, beamingWith the love that knows not shame—Lips, that thrill my inmost beingWith the utterance of a name.

Eyes of deepest violet, beaming

With the love that knows not shame—

Lips, that thrill my inmost being

With the utterance of a name.

And I bend the knee before her,As a captive ought to bow,—Pray thee, listen to my pleading,Sovereign of my soul art thou!

And I bend the knee before her,

As a captive ought to bow,—

Pray thee, listen to my pleading,

Sovereign of my soul art thou!

O my dear and gentle lady,Let me show thee all my pain,Ere the words that late were prisonedSink into my heart again.

O my dear and gentle lady,

Let me show thee all my pain,

Ere the words that late were prisoned

Sink into my heart again.

Love, they say, is very fearfulEre its curtain be withdrawn,Trembling at the thought of errorAs the shadows scare the fawn.

Love, they say, is very fearful

Ere its curtain be withdrawn,

Trembling at the thought of error

As the shadows scare the fawn.

Love hath bound me to thee, lady,Since the well-remembered dayWhen I first beheld thee comingIn the light of lustrous May.

Love hath bound me to thee, lady,

Since the well-remembered day

When I first beheld thee coming

In the light of lustrous May.

Not a word I dared to utter—More than he who, long ago,Saw the heavenly shapes descendingOver Ida's slopes of snow:

Not a word I dared to utter—

More than he who, long ago,

Saw the heavenly shapes descending

Over Ida's slopes of snow:

When a low and solemn musicFloated through the listening grove,And the throstle's song was silenced,And the doling of the dove:

When a low and solemn music

Floated through the listening grove,

And the throstle's song was silenced,

And the doling of the dove:

When immortal beauty openedAll its grace to mortal sight,And the awe of worship blendedWith the throbbing of delight.

When immortal beauty opened

All its grace to mortal sight,

And the awe of worship blended

With the throbbing of delight.

As the shepherd stood before themTrembling in the Phrygian dell,Even so my soul and beingOwned the magic of the spell;

As the shepherd stood before them

Trembling in the Phrygian dell,

Even so my soul and being

Owned the magic of the spell;

And I watched thee ever fondly,Watched thee, dearest! from afar,With the mute and humble homageOf the Indian to a star.

And I watched thee ever fondly,

Watched thee, dearest! from afar,

With the mute and humble homage

Of the Indian to a star.

Thou wert still the Lady FloraIn her morning garb of bloom;Where thou wert was light and glory,Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom.

Thou wert still the Lady Flora

In her morning garb of bloom;

Where thou wert was light and glory,

Where thou wert not, dearth and gloom.

So for many a day I followedFor a long and weary while,Ere my heart rose up to bless theeFor the yielding of a smile,—

So for many a day I followed

For a long and weary while,

Ere my heart rose up to bless thee

For the yielding of a smile,—

Ere thy words were few and brokenAs they answered back to mine,Ere my lips had power to thank theeFor the gift vouchsafed by thine.

Ere thy words were few and broken

As they answered back to mine,

Ere my lips had power to thank thee

For the gift vouchsafed by thine.

Then a mighty gush of passionThrough my inmost being ran;Then my older life was ended,And a dearer course began.

Then a mighty gush of passion

Through my inmost being ran;

Then my older life was ended,

And a dearer course began.

Dearer!—O, I cannot tell theeWhat a load was swept away,What a world of doubt and darknessFaded in the dawning day!

Dearer!—O, I cannot tell thee

What a load was swept away,

What a world of doubt and darkness

Faded in the dawning day!

All my error, all my weakness,All my vain delusions fled:Hope again revived, and gladnessWaved its wings above my head.

All my error, all my weakness,

All my vain delusions fled:

Hope again revived, and gladness

Waved its wings above my head.

Like the wanderer of the desert,When, across the dreary sand,Breathes the perfume from the thicketsBordering on the promised land;

Like the wanderer of the desert,

When, across the dreary sand,

Breathes the perfume from the thickets

Bordering on the promised land;

When afar he sees the palm-treesCresting o'er the lonely well,When he hears the pleasant tinkleOf the distant camel's bell:

When afar he sees the palm-trees

Cresting o'er the lonely well,

When he hears the pleasant tinkle

Of the distant camel's bell:

So a fresh and glad emotionRose within my swelling breast,And I hurried swiftly onwardsTo the haven of my rest.

So a fresh and glad emotion

Rose within my swelling breast,

And I hurried swiftly onwards

To the haven of my rest.

Thou wert there with word and welcome,With thy smile so purely sweet;And I laid my heart before thee,Laid it, darling, at thy feet!—

Thou wert there with word and welcome,

With thy smile so purely sweet;

And I laid my heart before thee,

Laid it, darling, at thy feet!—

O ye words that sound so hollowAs I now recall your tone!What are ye but empty echoesOf a passion crushed and gone?

O ye words that sound so hollow

As I now recall your tone!

What are ye but empty echoes

Of a passion crushed and gone?

Wherefore should I seek to kindleLight, when all around is gloom?Wherefore should I raise a phantomO'er the dark and silent tomb?

Wherefore should I seek to kindle

Light, when all around is gloom?

Wherefore should I raise a phantom

O'er the dark and silent tomb?

Early wert thou taken, Mary!In thy fair and glorious prime,Ere the bees had ceased to murmurThrough the umbrage of the lime.

Early wert thou taken, Mary!

In thy fair and glorious prime,

Ere the bees had ceased to murmur

Through the umbrage of the lime.

Buds were blowing, waters flowing,Birds were singing on the tree,Every thing was bright and glowing,When the angels came for thee.

Buds were blowing, waters flowing,

Birds were singing on the tree,

Every thing was bright and glowing,

When the angels came for thee.

Death had laid aside his terror,And he found thee calm and mild,Lying in thy robes of whiteness,Like a pure and stainless child.

Death had laid aside his terror,

And he found thee calm and mild,

Lying in thy robes of whiteness,

Like a pure and stainless child.

Hardly had the mountain violetSpread its blossoms on the sod,Ere they laid the turf above thee,And thy spirit rose to God.

Hardly had the mountain violet

Spread its blossoms on the sod,

Ere they laid the turf above thee,

And thy spirit rose to God.

Early wert thou taken, Mary!And I know 'tis vain to weep—Tears of mine can never wake theeFrom thy sad and silent sleep.

Early wert thou taken, Mary!

And I know 'tis vain to weep—

Tears of mine can never wake thee

From thy sad and silent sleep.

O away! my thoughts are earthward!Not asleep, my love, art thou!Dwelling in the land of gloryWith the saints and angels now.

O away! my thoughts are earthward!

Not asleep, my love, art thou!

Dwelling in the land of glory

With the saints and angels now.

Brighter, fairer far than living,With no trace of woe or pain,Robed in everlasting beauty,Shall I see thee once again,

Brighter, fairer far than living,

With no trace of woe or pain,

Robed in everlasting beauty,

Shall I see thee once again,

By the light that never fadeth,Underneath eternal skies,When the dawn of resurrectionBreaks o'er deathless Paradise.

By the light that never fadeth,

Underneath eternal skies,

When the dawn of resurrection

Breaks o'er deathless Paradise.

WRITTEN IN A ROMAN FORTIFICATION IN BAVARIA

I.There is a cloud before the sun,The wind is hushed and still,And silently the waters runBeneath the sombre hill.The sky is dark in every place,As is the earth below:Methinks it wore the self-same faceTwo thousand years ago.II.No light is on the ancient wall,No light upon the mound;The very trees, so thick and tall,Cast gloom, not shade, around.So silent is the place and cold,So far from human ken,It hath a look that makes me old,And spectres time again.III.I listen, half in thought to hearThe Roman trumpet blow—I search for glint of helm and spearAmidst the forest bough:And armour rings, and voices swell—I hear the legion's tramp,And mark the lonely sentinelWho guards the lonely camp.IV.Methinks I have no other home,No other hearth to find;For nothing save the thought of RomeIs stirring in my mind.And all that I have heard or dreamed,And all I had forgot,Are rising up, as though they seemedThe household of the spot.V.And all the names that Romans knewSeem just as known to me,As if I were a Roman too—A Roman born and free:And I could rise at Cæsar's name,As though it were a charmTo draw sharp lightning from the tame,And brace the coward's arm.VI.And yet, if yonder sky were blue,And earth were sunny gay,If nature wore the summer hueThat decked her yesterday,The mound, the trench, the rampart's space,Would move me nothing moreThan many a sweet sequestred placeThat I have marked before.VII.I could not feel the breezes bringRich odours from the trees;I could not hear the linnets sing,And think on themes like these.The painted insects as they passIn swift and motley strife,The very lizard in the grassWould scare me back to life.VIII.Then is the past so gloomy nowThat it may never bearThe open smile of nature's brow,Or meet the sunny air?I know not that—but joy is power,However short it last;And joy befits the present hour,If sadness fits the past.

There is a cloud before the sun,

The wind is hushed and still,

And silently the waters run

Beneath the sombre hill.

The sky is dark in every place,

As is the earth below:

Methinks it wore the self-same face

Two thousand years ago.

II.No light is on the ancient wall,No light upon the mound;The very trees, so thick and tall,Cast gloom, not shade, around.So silent is the place and cold,So far from human ken,It hath a look that makes me old,And spectres time again.

II.

No light is on the ancient wall,

No light upon the mound;

The very trees, so thick and tall,

Cast gloom, not shade, around.

So silent is the place and cold,

So far from human ken,

It hath a look that makes me old,

And spectres time again.

III.I listen, half in thought to hearThe Roman trumpet blow—I search for glint of helm and spearAmidst the forest bough:And armour rings, and voices swell—I hear the legion's tramp,And mark the lonely sentinelWho guards the lonely camp.

III.

I listen, half in thought to hear

The Roman trumpet blow—

I search for glint of helm and spear

Amidst the forest bough:

And armour rings, and voices swell—

I hear the legion's tramp,

And mark the lonely sentinel

Who guards the lonely camp.

IV.Methinks I have no other home,No other hearth to find;For nothing save the thought of RomeIs stirring in my mind.And all that I have heard or dreamed,And all I had forgot,Are rising up, as though they seemedThe household of the spot.

IV.

Methinks I have no other home,

No other hearth to find;

For nothing save the thought of Rome

Is stirring in my mind.

And all that I have heard or dreamed,

And all I had forgot,

Are rising up, as though they seemed

The household of the spot.

V.And all the names that Romans knewSeem just as known to me,As if I were a Roman too—A Roman born and free:And I could rise at Cæsar's name,As though it were a charmTo draw sharp lightning from the tame,And brace the coward's arm.

And all the names that Romans knew

Seem just as known to me,

As if I were a Roman too—

A Roman born and free:

And I could rise at Cæsar's name,

As though it were a charm

To draw sharp lightning from the tame,

And brace the coward's arm.

VI.And yet, if yonder sky were blue,And earth were sunny gay,If nature wore the summer hueThat decked her yesterday,The mound, the trench, the rampart's space,Would move me nothing moreThan many a sweet sequestred placeThat I have marked before.

VI.

And yet, if yonder sky were blue,

And earth were sunny gay,

If nature wore the summer hue

That decked her yesterday,

The mound, the trench, the rampart's space,

Would move me nothing more

Than many a sweet sequestred place

That I have marked before.

VII.I could not feel the breezes bringRich odours from the trees;I could not hear the linnets sing,And think on themes like these.The painted insects as they passIn swift and motley strife,The very lizard in the grassWould scare me back to life.

VII.

I could not feel the breezes bring

Rich odours from the trees;

I could not hear the linnets sing,

And think on themes like these.

The painted insects as they pass

In swift and motley strife,

The very lizard in the grass

Would scare me back to life.

VIII.Then is the past so gloomy nowThat it may never bearThe open smile of nature's brow,Or meet the sunny air?I know not that—but joy is power,However short it last;And joy befits the present hour,If sadness fits the past.

VIII.

Then is the past so gloomy now

That it may never bear

The open smile of nature's brow,

Or meet the sunny air?

I know not that—but joy is power,

However short it last;

And joy befits the present hour,

If sadness fits the past.

"Danube, Danube! wherefore com'st thouRed and raging to my caves?Wherefore leap thy swollen watersMadly through the broken waves?Wherefore is thy tide so sulliedWith a hue unknown to me;Wherefore dost thou bring pollutionTo the old and sacred sea?""Ha! rejoice, old Father Euxine!I am brimming full and red;Noble tidings do I carryFrom my distant channel-bed.I have been a Christian riverDull and slow this many a year,Rolling down my torpid watersThrough a silence morne and drear;Have not felt the tread of armiesTrampling on my reedy shore;Have not heard the trumpet calling,Or the cannon's gladsome roar;Only listened to the laughterFrom the village and the town,And the church-bells, ever jangling,As the weary day went down.So I lay and sorely ponderedOn the days long since gone by,When my old primæval forestsEchoed to the war-man's cry;When the race of Thor and OdinHeld their battles by my side,And the blood of man was minglingWarmly with my chilly tide.Father Euxine! thou rememb'restHow I brought thee tribute then—Swollen corpses, gashed and gory,Heads and limbs of slaughter'd men?Father Euxine! be thou joyful!I am running red once more—Not with heathen blood, as early,But with gallant Christian gore!For the old times are returning,And the Cross is broken down,And I hear the tocsin soundingIn the village and the town;And the glare of burning citiesSoon shall light me on my way—Ha! my heart is big and jocundWith the draught I drank to-day.Ha! I feel my strength awakened,And my brethren shout to me;Each is leaping red and joyousTo his own awaiting sea.Rhine and Elbe are plunging downwardThrough their wild anarchic land,Everywhere are Christians fallingBy their brother Christians' hand!Yea, the old times are returning,And the olden gods are here!Take my tribute, Father Euxine,To thy waters dark and drear.Therefore come I with my torrents,Shaking castle, crag, and town;Therefore, with the shout of thunder,Sweep I herd and herdsman down;Therefore leap I to thy bosom,With a loud triumphal roar—Greet me, greet me, Father Euxine,I am Christian stream no more!"

"Danube, Danube! wherefore com'st thou

Red and raging to my caves?

Wherefore leap thy swollen waters

Madly through the broken waves?

Wherefore is thy tide so sullied

With a hue unknown to me;

Wherefore dost thou bring pollution

To the old and sacred sea?"

"Ha! rejoice, old Father Euxine!I am brimming full and red;Noble tidings do I carryFrom my distant channel-bed.I have been a Christian riverDull and slow this many a year,Rolling down my torpid watersThrough a silence morne and drear;Have not felt the tread of armiesTrampling on my reedy shore;Have not heard the trumpet calling,Or the cannon's gladsome roar;Only listened to the laughterFrom the village and the town,And the church-bells, ever jangling,As the weary day went down.So I lay and sorely ponderedOn the days long since gone by,When my old primæval forestsEchoed to the war-man's cry;When the race of Thor and OdinHeld their battles by my side,And the blood of man was minglingWarmly with my chilly tide.Father Euxine! thou rememb'restHow I brought thee tribute then—Swollen corpses, gashed and gory,Heads and limbs of slaughter'd men?Father Euxine! be thou joyful!I am running red once more—Not with heathen blood, as early,But with gallant Christian gore!For the old times are returning,And the Cross is broken down,And I hear the tocsin soundingIn the village and the town;And the glare of burning citiesSoon shall light me on my way—Ha! my heart is big and jocundWith the draught I drank to-day.Ha! I feel my strength awakened,And my brethren shout to me;Each is leaping red and joyousTo his own awaiting sea.Rhine and Elbe are plunging downwardThrough their wild anarchic land,Everywhere are Christians fallingBy their brother Christians' hand!Yea, the old times are returning,And the olden gods are here!Take my tribute, Father Euxine,To thy waters dark and drear.Therefore come I with my torrents,Shaking castle, crag, and town;Therefore, with the shout of thunder,Sweep I herd and herdsman down;Therefore leap I to thy bosom,With a loud triumphal roar—Greet me, greet me, Father Euxine,I am Christian stream no more!"

"Ha! rejoice, old Father Euxine!

I am brimming full and red;

Noble tidings do I carry

From my distant channel-bed.

I have been a Christian river

Dull and slow this many a year,

Rolling down my torpid waters

Through a silence morne and drear;

Have not felt the tread of armies

Trampling on my reedy shore;

Have not heard the trumpet calling,

Or the cannon's gladsome roar;

Only listened to the laughter

From the village and the town,

And the church-bells, ever jangling,

As the weary day went down.

So I lay and sorely pondered

On the days long since gone by,

When my old primæval forests

Echoed to the war-man's cry;

When the race of Thor and Odin

Held their battles by my side,

And the blood of man was mingling

Warmly with my chilly tide.

Father Euxine! thou rememb'rest

How I brought thee tribute then—

Swollen corpses, gashed and gory,

Heads and limbs of slaughter'd men?

Father Euxine! be thou joyful!

I am running red once more—

Not with heathen blood, as early,

But with gallant Christian gore!

For the old times are returning,

And the Cross is broken down,

And I hear the tocsin sounding

In the village and the town;

And the glare of burning cities

Soon shall light me on my way—

Ha! my heart is big and jocund

With the draught I drank to-day.

Ha! I feel my strength awakened,

And my brethren shout to me;

Each is leaping red and joyous

To his own awaiting sea.

Rhine and Elbe are plunging downward

Through their wild anarchic land,

Everywhere are Christians falling

By their brother Christians' hand!

Yea, the old times are returning,

And the olden gods are here!

Take my tribute, Father Euxine,

To thy waters dark and drear.

Therefore come I with my torrents,

Shaking castle, crag, and town;

Therefore, with the shout of thunder,

Sweep I herd and herdsman down;

Therefore leap I to thy bosom,

With a loud triumphal roar—

Greet me, greet me, Father Euxine,

I am Christian stream no more!"

FROM THE GERMAN OF FREILIGRATH

I."Lift me without the tent, I say,—Me and my ottoman,—I'll see the messenger myself!It is the caravanFrom Africa, thou sayest,And they bring us news of war?Draw me without the tent, and quick!As at the desert wellThe freshness of the purling brookDelights the tired gazelle,So pant I for the voice of himThat cometh from afar!"II.The Scheik was lifted from his tent,And thus outspake the Moor:—"I saw, old Chief, the TricolorOn Algiers' topmost tower—Upon its battlements the silksOf Lyons flutter free.Each morning, in the market-place,The muster-drum is beat,And to the war-hymn of MarseillesThe squadrons pace the street.The armament from Toulon sailed:The Franks have crossed the sea."III."Towards the south, the columns marchedBeneath a cloudless sky:Their weapons glittered in the blazeOf the sun of Barbary;And with the dusty desert sandTheir horses' manes were white.The wild marauding tribes dispersedIn terror of their lives;They fled unto the mountainsWith their children and their wives,And urged the clumsy dromedaryUp the Atlas' height."IV."The Moors have ta'en their vantage-ground,The volleys thunder fast—The dark defile is blazingLike a heated oven-blast;The lion hears the strange turmoil,And leaves his mangled prey—No place was that for him to feed;And thick and loud the cries,Feu!—Allah! Allah!—En avant!In mingled discord rise;The Franks have reached the summit—They have won the victory!"V."With bristling steel, upon the topThe victors take their stand:Beneath their feet, with all its towns,They see the promised land—From Tunis, even unto Fez,From Atlas to the seas.The cavaliers alight to gaze,And gaze full well they may,Where countless minarets stand upSo solemnly and gray,Amidst the dark-green massesOf the flowering myrtle-trees."VI."The almond blossoms in the vale;The aloe from the rockThrows out its long and prickly leaves,Nor dreads the tempest's shock:A blessed land, I ween, is that,Though luckless is its Bey.There lies the sea—beyond lies France!Her banners in the airFloat proudly and triumphantly—A salvo! come, prepare!And loud and long the mountains rangWith that glad artillery."VII."'Tis they!" exclaimed the aged Scheik."I've battled by their side—I fought beneath the Pyramids!That day of deathless pride—Red as thy turban, Moor, that eve,Was every creek in Nile!But tell me—" and he griped his hand—"Their Sultaun. Stranger, say—His form—his face—his posture, man?Thou saw'st him in the fray?His eye—what wore he?" But the MoorSought in his vest awhile.VIII."Their Sultaun, Scheik, remains at homeWithin his palace walls:He sends a Pasha in his steadTo brave the bolts and balls.He was not there. An Aga burstFor him through Atlas' hold.Yet I can show thee somewhat too.A Frankish CavalierTold me his effigy was stampedUpon this medal here—He gave me with othersFor an Arab steed I sold."IX.The old man took the golden coin:Gazed steadfastly awhile,If that could be the SultaunWhom from the banks of NileHe guided o'er the desert path—Then sighed and thus spake he—"'Tis nothiseye—'tis nothisbrow—Another face is there:I never saw this man before—His head is like a pear!Take back thy medal, Moor—'tis notThat which I hoped to see."

"Lift me without the tent, I say,—

Me and my ottoman,—

I'll see the messenger myself!

It is the caravan

From Africa, thou sayest,

And they bring us news of war?

Draw me without the tent, and quick!

As at the desert well

The freshness of the purling brook

Delights the tired gazelle,

So pant I for the voice of him

That cometh from afar!"

II.The Scheik was lifted from his tent,And thus outspake the Moor:—"I saw, old Chief, the TricolorOn Algiers' topmost tower—Upon its battlements the silksOf Lyons flutter free.Each morning, in the market-place,The muster-drum is beat,And to the war-hymn of MarseillesThe squadrons pace the street.The armament from Toulon sailed:The Franks have crossed the sea."

II.

The Scheik was lifted from his tent,

And thus outspake the Moor:—

"I saw, old Chief, the Tricolor

On Algiers' topmost tower—

Upon its battlements the silks

Of Lyons flutter free.

Each morning, in the market-place,

The muster-drum is beat,

And to the war-hymn of Marseilles

The squadrons pace the street.

The armament from Toulon sailed:

The Franks have crossed the sea."

III."Towards the south, the columns marchedBeneath a cloudless sky:Their weapons glittered in the blazeOf the sun of Barbary;And with the dusty desert sandTheir horses' manes were white.The wild marauding tribes dispersedIn terror of their lives;They fled unto the mountainsWith their children and their wives,And urged the clumsy dromedaryUp the Atlas' height."

III.

"Towards the south, the columns marched

Beneath a cloudless sky:

Their weapons glittered in the blaze

Of the sun of Barbary;

And with the dusty desert sand

Their horses' manes were white.

The wild marauding tribes dispersed

In terror of their lives;

They fled unto the mountains

With their children and their wives,

And urged the clumsy dromedary

Up the Atlas' height."

IV."The Moors have ta'en their vantage-ground,The volleys thunder fast—The dark defile is blazingLike a heated oven-blast;The lion hears the strange turmoil,And leaves his mangled prey—No place was that for him to feed;And thick and loud the cries,Feu!—Allah! Allah!—En avant!In mingled discord rise;The Franks have reached the summit—They have won the victory!"

IV.

"The Moors have ta'en their vantage-ground,

The volleys thunder fast—

The dark defile is blazing

Like a heated oven-blast;

The lion hears the strange turmoil,

And leaves his mangled prey—

No place was that for him to feed;

And thick and loud the cries,

Feu!—Allah! Allah!—En avant!

In mingled discord rise;

The Franks have reached the summit—

They have won the victory!"

V."With bristling steel, upon the topThe victors take their stand:Beneath their feet, with all its towns,They see the promised land—From Tunis, even unto Fez,From Atlas to the seas.The cavaliers alight to gaze,And gaze full well they may,Where countless minarets stand upSo solemnly and gray,Amidst the dark-green massesOf the flowering myrtle-trees."

"With bristling steel, upon the top

The victors take their stand:

Beneath their feet, with all its towns,

They see the promised land—

From Tunis, even unto Fez,

From Atlas to the seas.

The cavaliers alight to gaze,

And gaze full well they may,

Where countless minarets stand up

So solemnly and gray,

Amidst the dark-green masses

Of the flowering myrtle-trees."

VI."The almond blossoms in the vale;The aloe from the rockThrows out its long and prickly leaves,Nor dreads the tempest's shock:A blessed land, I ween, is that,Though luckless is its Bey.There lies the sea—beyond lies France!Her banners in the airFloat proudly and triumphantly—A salvo! come, prepare!And loud and long the mountains rangWith that glad artillery."

VI.

"The almond blossoms in the vale;

The aloe from the rock

Throws out its long and prickly leaves,

Nor dreads the tempest's shock:

A blessed land, I ween, is that,

Though luckless is its Bey.

There lies the sea—beyond lies France!

Her banners in the air

Float proudly and triumphantly—

A salvo! come, prepare!

And loud and long the mountains rang

With that glad artillery."

VII."'Tis they!" exclaimed the aged Scheik."I've battled by their side—I fought beneath the Pyramids!That day of deathless pride—Red as thy turban, Moor, that eve,Was every creek in Nile!But tell me—" and he griped his hand—"Their Sultaun. Stranger, say—His form—his face—his posture, man?Thou saw'st him in the fray?His eye—what wore he?" But the MoorSought in his vest awhile.

VII.

"'Tis they!" exclaimed the aged Scheik.

"I've battled by their side—

I fought beneath the Pyramids!

That day of deathless pride—

Red as thy turban, Moor, that eve,

Was every creek in Nile!

But tell me—" and he griped his hand—

"Their Sultaun. Stranger, say—

His form—his face—his posture, man?

Thou saw'st him in the fray?

His eye—what wore he?" But the Moor

Sought in his vest awhile.

VIII."Their Sultaun, Scheik, remains at homeWithin his palace walls:He sends a Pasha in his steadTo brave the bolts and balls.He was not there. An Aga burstFor him through Atlas' hold.Yet I can show thee somewhat too.A Frankish CavalierTold me his effigy was stampedUpon this medal here—He gave me with othersFor an Arab steed I sold."

VIII.

"Their Sultaun, Scheik, remains at home

Within his palace walls:

He sends a Pasha in his stead

To brave the bolts and balls.

He was not there. An Aga burst

For him through Atlas' hold.

Yet I can show thee somewhat too.

A Frankish Cavalier

Told me his effigy was stamped

Upon this medal here—

He gave me with others

For an Arab steed I sold."

IX.The old man took the golden coin:Gazed steadfastly awhile,If that could be the SultaunWhom from the banks of NileHe guided o'er the desert path—Then sighed and thus spake he—"'Tis nothiseye—'tis nothisbrow—Another face is there:I never saw this man before—His head is like a pear!Take back thy medal, Moor—'tis notThat which I hoped to see."

IX.

The old man took the golden coin:

Gazed steadfastly awhile,

If that could be the Sultaun

Whom from the banks of Nile

He guided o'er the desert path—

Then sighed and thus spake he—

"'Tis nothiseye—'tis nothisbrow—

Another face is there:

I never saw this man before—

His head is like a pear!

Take back thy medal, Moor—'tis not

That which I hoped to see."

FROM THE GERMAN OF WILHELM MÜLLER

I am Constantine Kanaris:I, who lie beneath this stone,Twice into the air in thunderHave the Turkish galleys blown.In my bed I died—a Christian,Hoping straight with Christ to be;Yet one earthly wish is buriedDeep within the grave with me—That upon the open oceanWhen the third Armada came,They and I had died together,Whirled aloft on wings of flame.Yet 'tis something that they've laid meIn a land without a stain:Keep it thus, my God and Saviour,Till I rise from earth again!

I am Constantine Kanaris:I, who lie beneath this stone,Twice into the air in thunderHave the Turkish galleys blown.

I am Constantine Kanaris:

I, who lie beneath this stone,

Twice into the air in thunder

Have the Turkish galleys blown.

In my bed I died—a Christian,Hoping straight with Christ to be;Yet one earthly wish is buriedDeep within the grave with me—

In my bed I died—a Christian,

Hoping straight with Christ to be;

Yet one earthly wish is buried

Deep within the grave with me—

That upon the open oceanWhen the third Armada came,They and I had died together,Whirled aloft on wings of flame.

That upon the open ocean

When the third Armada came,

They and I had died together,

Whirled aloft on wings of flame.

Yet 'tis something that they've laid meIn a land without a stain:Keep it thus, my God and Saviour,Till I rise from earth again!

Yet 'tis something that they've laid me

In a land without a stain:

Keep it thus, my God and Saviour,

Till I rise from earth again!

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